Page 77 of War Hour

I shake my head, holding back a smile as I gesture for him to go.

Left to meander through the crowd, I can’t shake the stiffness from my shoulders. Passing smiles drop when their eyes meet mine. Searching across the room for a friendly face is an arduous task, and I lost Ardis and Sar among the crowd.

Maybe it’s time to call it. I obviously am only alienating myself here.

Torryn hasn’t left the head table since the procession, his eyes prevailing the sea of silk and velvet. A burgundy drink swirls in the glass chalice he grips onto like a lifeline. Each time his head dips to take a sip, he winces, swallowing the bitter liquid with a frown.

Is he really drinkingtonightof all nights? This is supposed to be an opportunity to convince the Crowns. How can he do that drunk?

Then again, I was just debating abandoning the endeavor as well.

As if able to feel my eyes on him, Torryn glances in my direction. He gives me an appraising look, lingering at the sleeves of my dress. When our gazes meet, he raises a brow, arching it in my direction.

I mock curtsy, pulling my dress out around me. How ridiculous I must look trying to fit in among these people?

Once a street rat—always a street rat, no matter how you dress it up.

Without realizing, I step back, bumping into someone walking behind me.

Whirling on my heels, I’m a flurry of apologies. “My apologies, I hadn’t—”

Lord Bralas sneers at me, nose wrinkled with distaste. “Ugh,you. Your presence is relentless.”

Stepping back, I catch sight of Sar and Ardis on the other side of the room, both watching me. Unable to flag them down for assistance, I swallow the words itching to flay Lord Bralas alive, even more so knowing what he’d done to his own daughter.

But I’m supposed to be making allies, and anything other than begging for forgiveness wouldn’t do that. This is what Torryn had called unwanted attention. So, even though Torryn would sooner burst into flames than apologize to Lord Bralas, that is exactly what I do.

“Lord Bralas. Please forgive me,” I say, curtsying in subservience.

Lord Bralas looks around the room with narrowed eyes. His nostrils flare as he breathes in heavily. Then, with a fake smile, he mutters through gritted teeth, “Enjoy your glimpse of the finer life while you can, Valor. You will not have it for long.”

A presence comes to rest behind me, a chest pressing against my back. Peering over my shoulder, I sag in relief at the sight of Evander.

Bralas stiffens, painting a passive expression across his face.

Evander stands strong behind me, his chest brushing my shoulder as he leans past me to cut Lord Bralas off, just loud enough for the three of us to hear.

“I’m afraid I must interrupt, as I had reserved this dance for Lysta. Likely for the better, though, isn’t it, Lord Bralas?”

Halting my plans to slip away, Evander slips his fingers around my wrist. His eyes implore me to listen, his grip tightening.

Whipping my head to look at Evander, I open my mouth in protest but stop short when Lord Bralas rolls his eyes.

He sneers at me before saying, “If you can get her to stumble through a few beats of the song, it would surprise me to see it.”

Evander nods as if he hadn’t even heard Lord Bralas’s word but pulls me away.

Out of Lord Bralas’s earshot, I speak through a forced smile, aware of every set of eyes glued to us.

“He’s right. I haven’t danced in my life, let alone something choreographed like this. It would take me weeks to learn even one of these dances.”

Evander smiles at me, using every ounce of his charm. “I thought you were going to trust me.”

I grit my teeth, nodding tightly. “Yes, but—”

“Follow my lead, and I will not let you down.”

Evander doesn’t waver, waiting patiently for me to decide.

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